


Halcyon

by Tyoliana



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe, DMC4, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29856993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyoliana/pseuds/Tyoliana
Summary: “Who’re you...callin’ a stray?” “You,” he grins and points a gloved hand at Nero, “don’t see anyone else here, do I?”Nero isn't supposed to be here. Dante's just along for the ride.
Relationships: Dante/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to blossom a beautiful, slow grow passionate story between two of my favorite gaming characters.

The first thing Nero notices when he comes to is pain. Intense pain searing across his ribs to neck gets his initial notice, a sharp tenderness in his left leg soon following. It’s indescribable and brings him close to the brink of tears. Fuck, it hurts so bad. 

Sitting up gingerly, a surge of pain rushes into Nero’s head and lingers for only a second. Not a concussion, probably, but it does ache a little now. It’s not too bad though; he continues to assess possibilities of any broken bones or fractures. He presses a hand against his right side and immediately winces. Alright, broken bones are definitely a possibility. At least a couple of fractured ribs and massive bruising to boot. After doing a quick patdown of any tender areas, the pain that awoke him has now dulled down to the occasional major throb. Walking will be another challenge to attempt, but not right now. 

The second thing Nero notices is that he has absolutely no idea where he is. Not even in the figurative way. In the most literal sense; he recognizes nothing around his immediate location. It’s nearly dawn but the wildlife hasn’t yet stirred awake. A few dried shrubs and bushes, a decently sized boulder that he likely made an impact on, and a withered tree are all Nero sees. Maybe if one squinted a little, you could make out a distant road miles away. The scratch in his throat reminds Nero that’s if dehydration doesn’t take him before he reaches it. 

Sitting up further, his hands scrunch against warm sand. That, at least, is familiar. And it feels heavenly against his skin. 

Sighing, Nero slowly lays back down and rolls over to rest his lower body against the sand. It helps the pain a bit and clears the haze in his head. Overall, he doesn’t have a lot of options. In fact, he has about two. He could sit here, wait it out, and hope some wanderer strays off the beaten path to rescue him. Sounds lovely, but also sounds highly unlikely. The second, more realistic, option is to get off his ass and make the trek to the distant road. 

The second option is also incredibly unappealing and Nero has a theory that once he leaves contact with this comforting sand his body is going to hate him. Just to test it, he rolls over slightly and hisses as he’s quickly reminded of how badly his body is messed up right now. 

Still, the chances of someone stumbling here is very low and he’d rather not become a meal for vultures. 

It takes tremendous effort to push his arms away from the sand and stand up. Wobbly, like a newborn calf, Nero is able to just barely get his footing steady and take some steps. He keeps movement minimal enough to avoid straining his wounds, but each step on his right leg is excruciating. Grinding his teeth, Nero bears through it and treks closer to the road. 

Damn this survival instinct. He would much rather just envelop himself back into the sand. 

The sun beats down on Nero with unrelenting force, and there’s no shade haven in sight. After what feels like a lifetime, he feels his feet crunch against concrete instead of sand. Nearly faint from what he assumes a combination of heat exhaustion and dehydration, Nero falls to his knees and coughs violently. There’s no blood when he wipes his mouth, a good sign. But his throat is raw as hell and he could really go for a cool drink right now. 

Nero’s teetering on the edge of hallucinating a water cantine when he hears a faint, but powerful engine rumbling down the road. A flash of metallic red blinds his vision momentarily, followed by a clearer sight of the convertible approaching him. Hopefully it’s approaching him. 

Summoning the least bit of energy he has, Nero begins to wave his hands wildly and sighs in relief when the car slowly comes to a stop a few feet away. 

That was pretty much all the gas he has left and now he’s praying this stranger has the kindness in their heart to help. It’s certainly a longshot; being a lone young man in the middle of nowhere is the stuff of his nightmares. Nero doesn’t know if murder by Stranger with Cool Car beats getting eaten alive by birds. 

He falls to his knees again and this time he doesn’t know if he has the strength to get up again. If the stranger decides to pick a fight, or worse, Nero’s pretty much shit out of luck. On the flip side, if they leave...well maybe he has enough time to say some prayers to whatever god he’s going to. 

The vehicle stalls to a stop and he hears a door open, heavy boots landing on the ground as the owner walks out. Not a bad start. Maybe they’ll take pity and at least let him sit in the car away from the blazing sun. And it seems like Mr. Boots is taking his time, slowly walking towards his prone figure. Right now, the sound of crunching gravel and sand underneath his boots are the only things keeping Nero from completely passing out. 

Finally, a pair of Western-styled boots come into his view, stopping right before him. It takes a bit, but Nero eventually raises his head skyward. The first thing he sees is blue, almost glacier blue. The sun’s nearly at full mast in the afternoon and casts dark shadows across the stranger features. But Nero could still make out the almost radiating glow of his eyes. If this were any other place, he might’ve even felt flustered under this man’s gaze. But right now he’s looking at a potential savior from whatever Hell he’s landed in. 

The stranger doesn’t say anything, just takes in Nero’s fatigued state with his arms crossed in front of him. Leather arms, leather coat, leather pants. He wonders how this man isn’t dying from sweat exhaustion wearing that heavy shit. Air conditioning? It must be. Nero could almost cry from the thought of escaping the dreadful heat. The stranger moves his gaze across his form, tattered clothes and grimey hair, and assesses his blood-crusted arm. It’s not pretty, but it should tell a pitiful story and tug at his heartstrings even just a little. 

After what feels like an eternity of just...staring, the stranger clad in leather uncrosses his arms and kneels down. He takes care brushing his coat away from dust piles. Nero finally gets a good look at his face when he comes down to your eye level. Handsome, dangerously handsome. His eyes are beautiful no doubt, with chiseled cheekbones and a set of plush lips. A five o’clock shadow just appearing on his jawline does nothing to damper his looks; it amplifies the sharpness further. Certainly, if this were any other place Nero wouldn’t have known how to act in front of such a person. 

But this is not any other place and he really need this man’s help, so he tries to ignore the rising feelings of flustering and attempts to keep his gaze. The stranger grimaces. “Well shit. Didn’t think I’d see a stray out here.”

Nero is certainly a sight for sore eyes, but the jab is irritating. Social etiquette should still hold up here. Even in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. “Who’re you...callin’ a stray?”

“You,” he grins and points a gloved hand at him, “don’t see anyone else here, do I?” Christ, a smartass. 

As much as he’d like to, Nero can’t really say anything in return. Black spots begin dancing around in his vision and the need to shut his eyes grows stronger by the second. His wounded leg protests against the crouched position and even breathing feels laborious.

If the stranger notices anything, he doesn’t say it and instead shrugs his shoulders. “I’just say it as it is. But if you’d like to sunbathe out here, be my guest”. 

Nero’s stomach plummets as he stands up and turns to leave. Driven by pure survival instinct, he lunges out and grabs his coat, pain flaring up everywhere as he lands on his tender side. Gripping the leather like a lifeline, he’s just able to croak out- 

“He-elp me....plea..se...”

And passes out.


	2. Before Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter!

Nero awakens to the momentary bliss of air conditioning fanning his face in the most heavenly way possible. How long was he out in that heat for? Basically forever. Or at least long enough to forget what the feeling of ‘cold’ is. 

The moment of calm is soon ruined when his head hits the car ceiling on a particularly bad pothole. He hisses, a hand immediately flying up to massage the sore spot on his head, then tensing briefly before Nero remembers where he is. Who he’s with. 

“Should’ve warned you to mind the bumps, these roads are crap.”

Nero peeks over to glare at the driver clad in leather, still as handsome as he remembered from their initial encounter on the side of the road. The man's position is relaxed at the wheel, with one hand casually steering and the other laying on the middle console. Sporting a bigger frame than Nero, shoulders, chest, and all, he looks comically small in this convertible. 

“Are you sure it’s not shitty driving?” Nero lets out a bit more bite than he meant to. 

But the stranger pays no heed and chuckles. “Definitely not! Then again, my usual passengers don’t look like they fought a rabid dust bunny. ” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Nero sits up further in his seat and rolls out his shoulders. Sleeping in this small of a space isn’t on his top list of napping locations, but it definitely did him well. A lot better than waking up with wild animals eating his guts. 

So of course, he feels a little bad for the earlier jab. “Sorry,” he tilts his head to look clearly at the driver, “always wake up feeling like shit.”

The man shrugs nonchalantly, Nero could swear he caught a glint in his eyes. Impossibly blue eyes. “So how’re you holding up? You looked pretty rough out there.” 

That’s an understatement. Other than the thin layer of grime and dirt across his skin, Nero’s clothes look more than worse for wear. His sweatshirt is littered with holes and the left arm sleeve is nearly ripped off. He tears it all the way off and winces when his lower arm stings with discomfort. The blood has all dried, leaving small red flakes littering his jeans. On closer inspection, the skin is mangled with a few deep abrasions on his hand, a larger, but more shallow, lesion reaching from wrist to forearm. Nero applies some pressure, but the wounds have already clotted.

With the tattered sleeve, Nero attempts to fashion it into a bandage wrap around the more serious cuts. It doesn’t really work, only covering from his wrist to about four inches up, but it’s better than nothing and helps the throbbing a little. 

“M’ not that bad, just glad to be out of the damn heat. Not sure what would’ve happened if you didn’t drive by, though.” Nero turns away, rubbing his nose. Damned old habit. 

“So yeah, thanks.” 

The stranger doesn’t look over but nods his head with a grin. “No need for thanks. I don’t see many folks around here these days anyway.”

“Can’t imagine why. Could get a killer tan out here.”

He laughs. It rings clear, a nice sound. “The company ain’t too bad, so don’t worry yourself, kid.”

“Kid?” Nero huffed, “you can’t be more than a couple years older.” 

“Well, what else ‘m I supposed to call you?”

Nero opens his mouth for a snarky response but hesitates. For a moment, he nearly forgets _how_ to respond. Then something clicks in his memory. 

“Nero. Just call me Nero.” 

The man hums in approval. “Nero huh? Not a bad name.”

“Oh yeah? And yours?”

“Dante. Just Dante.” He pauses momentarily before glancing at Nero with a playful look. “Hero, savior, and protector work just fine too.” 

“No way in Hell, I’ll stick with Dante.”

“Suit yourself, kid.” 

“Hey-“

Dante waves his hand and quickly changes the subject. “So, any idea of where you’re headin'? As much as I’d like to drive around aimlessly for hours, this girl doesn’t have much left in the tank.” 

Nero doesn’t respond right away, pretending to admire the desert visage outside and ignoring the strings of swelling anxiety. Where is he going? Honestly, Nero hasn’t thought this far ahead hours ago. But in all fairness, he was teetering on the edge of heat stroke and wasn’t exactly thinking about next steps other than one footstep after the other. “The closest town I guess, just somewhere with a phone.” 

“Sure. We’re a few miles out from my city if that’s alright?”

“Fine by me.”

Nero begins settling in his seat for the drive, but Dante continues.“I do have some questions, but I figured you should get some rest before I bombarded you.” 

Well shit. He freezes and swallows his throat. 

If Dante notices, he doesn't show it. "You don't look local, but I guess that's not a crime." A pause. "How'd you get here?" 

Honestly is not always Nero's best policy, but he’d be foolish not to be honest with Dante right now. Can’t risk getting dumped out just yet. “Sorry, but you’re shit out of luck there. I got no idea how I ended up here, let alone all fucked up like this.” Nero purses his lips and runs a hand through his hair, rubbing a particular spot. “I guess..all I remember is waking up surrounded by sand and dust. I didn’t wanna die out there so here we are.” 

“Nothing else?” 

“Nothing. Other than some vultures.” 

Dante hummed, rubbing a spot on his chin. “Well, I can’t deny the mystery in all of this. If you’d told me about a fight with a wood chipper I would’ve believed that more.” 

Nero feels a rush of anger surging through him. It hacked against some natural walls of defensiveness that he’s surprised rises so easily. “Sorry it’s not more exciting for you, but honestly it’s not any of your business anyway.” 

The other man puts his hand up in mock surrender. “Look, I don’t mean to pry. But I do like to know who exactly I’m riding with and why. Pretty much a mystery to me.”

“I’ll try to be out of your hair soon enough.” Nero snarled, turning to face the window once again, and stayed silent. No need to continue this conversation any further. 

It seems Dante felt the same, keeping his eyes on the road ahead and a hand against his cheek. Nero felt a little bad, but only a little. 

He doesn’t even know his own secrets, to begin with. The more Nero thought about this whole shitty situation, the more it pissed him off; He’s able to remember his name, but not much else. Blank spots in his memory danced around. 

It scared him, but it pissed him off even more. He got stuck in a shitty hellscape, nearly died from it, and was forced to beg for help off of some random stranger. Granted, he got lucky with this ‘Dante’ guy not being a serial killer. But once they got into town and went their separate ways, Nero had no idea what he was going to do without any knowledge of where the hell he was. 

He could ask Dante for help, but he felt that he’s asked too much already. He probably already thinks Nero is some freak fucking around in the desert, might even surrender him to the local authorities or...worse. He quietly grits his teeth in frustration, feeling more vulnerable and uncertain as his situation could potentially develop. 

But Nero will survive, that much he can rely on. At least he’ll try. 

Before long, Dante clears his throat and brings Nero out of his glooming stupor. They’ve arrived at a small diner near the entrance to a larger city. It’s later in the afternoon, but the sidewalks are still bustling with people going about their day. 

Suddenly feeling self-conscious about his own wrecked attire, which doesn’t do much to help the ‘freak’ scenario, Dante reaches from behind his seat a coat not too different from his own. It’s a long, navy coat with simple red embroidering decorating the right sleeve. 

“Here,” tossing it onto Nero’s lap, “it gets pretty damn cold around this time. Now I know you got a penchant for warmer climates, but trust me on this one.”

Nero ignores Dante’s last comment, running his fingers across thick fabric and seams. It’s way too nice to be randomly thrown around in the trunk. But..

He frowns and hands it back. “Nah, I can’t take it. I’ll be fine like this.” 

Dante gives him an easy smile, firmly handing it back to Nero and pushing it against his arm. “Was gonna throw it out anyway. Don’tcha think it should get some use before that?”

Before Nero can protest further Dante abruptly turns off the car and gets out, leaving his passenger to scowl after him. Once the other man is out of sight, he begrudgingly slips the coat on. He struggles a bit in the confined space and his left arm painfully protests the awkward angle, but once it’s finally on it feels fantastic. It nearly fits like a glove and does a great job at hiding the mess underneath. Nero smooths a hand down the front panel, clutching the fabric closer against him like a shield. 

Dante opens the passenger door, causing Nero to jump. 

“Well, well! I’d say it looks pretty good!” 

Nero rubs his nose and looks away, ignoring his comment. “Is there a phone here?”

“Ah, yep, right over there.” Dante points to a nearby phone booth. A little rickety but functional for the most part. “I’ll be inside gettin’ some things, so if you need me don’t hesitate to holler.”

He pats the door, almost encouraging his unsure passenger, then turns to wave a hand behind him while walking towards the front doors of the diner. Nero waits a few seconds looking at the taller man’s back. He briefly wonders if Dante will turn around or wait for him inside. He doesn’t, of course, but Nero isn’t surprised. Why would be; they’re basically strangers to each other.

He gets out of the car and quickly treks to the phone booth, making an extra effort to avoid eye contact with the bodies around him. They ignore Nero for the most part, which he’s grateful for. 

Once he’s inside the booth, Nero lets out a deep sigh and leans against a glass wall. The feeling of isolation calms him down, feeling tucked away from this unfamiliar world he’s landed himself in. Nero feels his hands starting to shake and shoves them into the coat pockets, stifling a groan when his arm bends from the effort. 

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Nero reaches for the phone receiver and holds it against his ear. The number pad stares back at him, waiting. Almost instinctively, his finger moves automatically pressing pads to a number he doesn’t recognize. Hesitating just briefly, Nero presses the call button and feels his heart thump violently in his chest. The dial rings echo throughout his head, stomach dropping a little further on each blistering ring and plummets when he hears-

_The number you have dialed cannot be reached. Please try again later._

Nero struggles to breathe as he puts in that number again, but can’t keep his fingers from shaking. 

The automatic message sounds again and Nero slams the phone back into his receiver. He’s close to hyperventilating, mind spinning in circles trying to understand what’s happening to him. The phone booth begins to feel stifling and shrinks around him, an isolated sanctuary now becoming a prison as he imagines a mirage of eyes boring holes into him. Staring, questioning, judging. Invisible hands clutching his arms and neck dragging him further down into the depths of uncertainty. He can feel everything, stealing the very breath from his lips. 

Nero can’t keep himself angry enough to prevent the fear from settling in, and it’s crawling up to him too quickly. 

The phone booth door slams open and Nero gasps, spinning around to find Dante’s icy eyes meeting his own.

Dante looks to the bent phone and then to Nero’s hand, still shaking. He purses his lips but doesn’t move. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you, but you were takin’ a while and I just..wanted to make sure you didn’t pass out on me again, kid.” 

He kept his tone light, but Nero could tell that Dante was worried. He didn’t know how to feel about it, but the company helped keep the feelings of panic at bay.

“Y-yeah, just trying to use this damn thing.” Nero motioned to the number pad and winced when he saw that several buttons had been crunched. 

Dante raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You got a number? I can dial it for you.” 

“No!” Does he even remember the number now? “No, no..I got it. I know how to use a fucking phone booth.” 

“Never said you couldn’t. I’m just tryin’ to help out.” 

Of course, Dante’s trying to help. That’s all he’s been doing today and Nero just can’t rely on that any longer. He knows better than to lean on strangers, especially in the middle of a looming panic attack. “Look. You saved my life back there and really, thanks for that, but I don’t need someone holding my hand.” 

The other man opens his mouth, but closes it and shakes his head. Leaning back from the booth, Dante gives Nero a hard look that the smaller man avoids. “Then..at least let me take a look at that arm. It looks fucked up.” 

“I said I don’t need-!“

“I know, that’s why I’m asking.” Dante sighs. “Nero, just let me take a look. I swear, it won’t take long.” 

“I’m fucking fine!” Nero grits out, shielding the offending arm away from Dante’s line of sight. 

Pain suddenly flares from his fingertips to the ridge of his elbow. Nero could handle the minor throbs before, but this now felt like a thousand needles stabbing into every inch and pore across his skin. Nero knows it’s not broken, but the waves of agony bring prinks of tears to his eyes and he crumbles down to the floor, cradling his arm uselessly. Seconds pass and the pain soon subsides, but he can still feel a lingering ache pulse below the surface. 

Dante doesn’t react, just stares down at Nero and waits for the episode to pass. It’s humiliating, in front of a stranger like this, but Nero can’t focus on anything else but the ache. Slowly, slowly it dies down enough for him to think clearly. It feels like an eternity, but he eventually gets back to his feet. Nero hates himself for it, but wordlessly brings his arm into the taller man’s view and unwraps the makeshift bandage. 

Dante whistles at the lesions, an angry red and pussing some clear liquid from the deeper cuts. The way he handles Nero’s arm is gentle, but assertive in his prodding, only making the smaller man hiss once from the handling. Several beats of silence pass before Dante finishes his inspection. Nero doesn’t like the worried look in his eyes. He’s not fucking vulnerable. But it’s a weak reminder. 

“Well,” he holds Nero’s arm listlessly, carefully not to move it, “I thought it looked bad before and it’s definitely bad. I doubt it’s broken, but infection is a real bitch to deal with.”

When Nero doesn’t reply, Dante clears his throat and shifts his footing in the awkward silence. “Look, kid, I got a kit back at my office. It’s warm there and there’s a couch you can crash on.”

Warm is safe, and safe is good. Nero can’t help but let his pride blossom up, even knowing how limited his actual options are. He’d love to just follow Dante like the lost puppy he knows he is. Strangers are strangers, though. 

“No offense,” Nero huffs indignantly, “but I don’t really know you. And you don’t know me.” He pauses for effect. Can he really trust this man? “I could be a criminal for all you know.” 

He didn’t mean to make it a joke, but Dante laughs wholeheartedly and Nero sets his frown deeper. The taller man just grins and holds out a hand. “You’re in luck then, I keep somewhat dangerous company myself.”

Nero stares at the hand offered to him, another lifeline in his current Hellscape that he could so easily swipe away and run from. He could be pretty good at running, but how far could he actually get without money or a car, without people to contact or knowledge of this city. Nero’s just one guy, one very very fucked up guy without so much of a stake in this unknown world. Like a mantra, the voice instead his head is telling him to just survive by any and all means necessary. 

_Any_ and _all_ shouldn't even be considered in normal circumstances, but Nero’s not an idiot. 

He takes Dante’s hand.


	3. Arrival

“Devil May Cry...? What’s with the name, you runnin’ a bar or something?”

Nero isn’t one to judge when the pair eventually arrive at Dante’s ‘office’ - a somewhat less than impressive older brick structure immensely contrasted by a neon red sign hanging slightly askew above the doorway. It reads ‘Devil May Cry’ in elegant script, rather unfitting for its nature of the establishment. Trash cans filled with pizza boxes and beer cans litter the entrance sides and a perpetual smell of moldy water from the nearby gutters assaults the senses. There’s a slim possibility that the place looks better in daylight, but Nero would absolutely not bet money on that. 

Still, the name is strange. Devil May Cry. _Do_ devils cry? Nero hasn’t had the pleasure of asking one yet. 

“I probably got some choice around if you need somethin’ to sleep through. Maybe some whiskey under my desk..” Dante smirks, stroking his chin pseudo-methodically. Nearing later hours in the evening, Nero notices the touch of shadow across his jaw is more prominent now, but the hairs are as pale as ever. 

“Uh, no thanks.”

Neither said much during the ride from the diner, the older man not making any conversation following Nero’s outburst in the phone booth. There really wasn’t much to say on his side; In fact, he’d love to forget it even happened in the first place. A brief moment of vulnerability is all it was. Nero’s certain he’d been through worse in life and it was simply nothing to rage about. Especially to a stranger, which Dante most definitely still is. 

“Suit yourself.” Twirling his keys around a finger, said definitive stranger saunters over to the doorway and opens it for Nero, flicking his head inside with a grin. He rubs his nose and murmurs a quick thanks while he makes up the distance, a light blush dusting his cheeks. 

One step inside and he immediately shrieks.

Less concerned about the general wear and tear of the interior, Nero is greeted by the fantastic view of several mutilated demonic heads littering the left and ride walls. Horrid, grotesque creatures in various stages of preservation, obviously not cared for by the building’s owner. Some have horns, some have vicious teeth bared in death, and some look like nightmares hidden under children’s beds at night. The variety in color is somewhat fascinating but nevertheless terrifies the living shit out of Nero. 

“What the fuck?! What is all this shit?!” 

“What?” The taller man peeks around the doorway, confused. “Oh, just some souvenirs, don’t mind em’. They don’t bite anymore.” 

_Anymore_. Holy shit. “No way, this is fucking insane! How the hell did you even…are these _real_?”

They look very real, but Nero has to ask because you couldn’t pay him enough to touch them to find out. 

Dante laughs, tapping the door closed and walking to one, particularly mangled serpent head. “Oh, they’re real, kid. You can touch em’ if you’d like.” Nero grimaces as the man fiddles with the creature’s jaw. 

“Dare I even ask what the _hell_ it is you do? This isn’t normal.” 

Dante shrugs, taking off his coat and tossing it on a decent-looking desk in the middle of the room. With great difficulty, avoiding the demon heads, Nero observes the rest of the area. It’s fairly normal but messy; Random papers and beer bottles scattered across the ground without a care, a few books here and there. The couple of rugs that Dante does have are purely ornamental and probably dusty as all hell and as unkempt as the rest of the room. As the older man mentioned earlier, there’s a small bar in the back of the room with an assortment of liquors that don’t catch Nero’s interest. 

But what does catch his eye is an impressive antique jukebox standing next to the bar. It’s old, but more maintained than the other objects and gives the room some color other than brown and beige. It almost looks like it’s been repaired several times though, given the mismatched colors of some pieces. And is that...a _fist_ dent?

“I do odd jobs here and there, nothin’ too exciting.” 

Coat placed aside, Nero gets a better view of Dante’s form. He’s fit, clearly well in-shape with lean muscles that don’t bulk up his arms or back. A pair of broad shoulders does well to line the rest of his body, slimming down to a point with a toned midsection. A sliver of chest peeks through, two nicely formed pectorals, and just a tuft of short white hair. The taller man’s shirt clings to him like a second skin, and with the sleeves rolled up Nero can just make out the outlines of veins running up his forearms. Not for the first time today, he feels awkward about his own tattered state.

Nero didn’t expect to stare so long, but when he raises his eyes back to Dante’s, the other man is already looking back and smirking. “Alright, enough gawking. Take a seat over there while I find this damned thing..”

Rubbing his nose again, Nero sits on the directed couch, a very hard couch, next to the jukebox. But a cushioned seat better than the tiny convertible that he’s been subject to for several hours prior. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies some of the images lined behind Dante’s desk. It’s a debauchery display of nearly naked women and firearms, a lone pizza advertisement mixing up the group. Nero frowns and looks away, eyes landing on a single picture frame on the desk. It’s too far to make out the image, but it vaguely appears to be a woman. 

Dante comes back shortly carefully holding a slightly decrepit first aid kit. “Man it’s been ages since I pulled this thing out. Can’t believe it’s still in one piece.”

Alright, decrepit was a nice word for it. More like depressingly unopened, the plastic seal still wound tightly around the corners. “Have you ever touched this thing?”

“I guess not.” The seal comes off easy enough, the taller man tossing it to one of the many small piles of crap. “Don’t really need this kind of thing around, unless some poor wounded stray happens to come around.” 

Scowling, Nero punches Dante in the arm without any real heat behind it. 

He laughs, unaffected by the attack. “Just kidding, just kidding.” The scowl doesn’t relent. “Alright kid, let’s see what we can do here.”

For all his jesting with the first-aid kit, Dante handles Nero’s arm with near-expert care, applying just enough pressure for the compression wrap without disturbing the more discolored areas. He works quickly and efficiently - _fuck_ \- Nero only hissing once when Dante applies disinfectant to the deeper cuts. A tender heat from his fingertips linger ever so slightly across Nero’s skin, but he doesn’t pay heed. 

Dante hums, wrapping the bandage over the last laceration. “It’s more bruised than I thought, you definitely landed on this bad, kid. ‘M not sure if it’s broken, but this oughta help the pain.” 

The subtle compression feels heavenly against his arm, already feeling the aching pangs slowly dissipate. It doesn’t completely go away, but it’s bearable now. Nero doesn't even bitch about the 'kid' nickname, though it's still annoying as hell. 

“Alright, you’re good to go. At least for tonight. Just try not to sleep on it and stuff.” Dante’s packing up the kit materials when the younger man knits his knees together and draws them close on the couch, feeling a bit out of place surrounded by a stranger’s presence. But for now, he’s safe. Warm. Not sickly with infection. 

Well, it’s a start. 

Almost sensing the uncomfortable air coming from Nero, the taller man doesn’t turn around but loudly says, “I have an extra room, but it’s filled with a bunch of shit right now. You sleep here tonight and I’ll work on it tomorrow.” 

Nero nods his head but doesn’t reply. He should show some kind of gratitude but he’s just so tired right now. The weight of today’s events begins to trickle down in his mind, small drops growing to near overwhelming pours of everything he can remember. In reality, it’s not like he has much to recall, only the past nine or so hours, but it’s fatiguing enough just to think about. He doesn’t hear Dante leave, but when Nero looks up again the man is gone. Talk about reading the room. 

Cursing silently, he runs a hand through the greasy mess atop his head. Wow, it's incredibly embarrassing and he should’ve asked Dante where the shower is. But the man disappeared in thin air without so much as a 'bye' or 'good night'. 

Whatever. Nero's not hurt or anything like that, but maybe he finally rubbed Dante the wrong way. 

No use fretting over nothing; Letting out a little yawn Nero settles in for the night. The couch is shitty, like a glorified cardboard cutout wearing a cheap leather coat, but Nero’s honestly grateful for anything under his back that’s not concrete. He settles in, finding an angle that won’t break his back overnight, and rests his good arm under his head for some pillowed support. Heeding Dante’s instructions, the bandaged arm is slung across Nero’s chest, absentmindedly smoothing his fingers over the hem of his borrowed coat. It’s damn warm, and he can’t be bothered asking for a blanket now. 

The ‘souvenirs’ are still visible from Nero’s peripheral, but simply turning his head and shutting his eyes does the trick. Sleep takes but a moment to capture him, darkness pathing away to some kind of nightly dreams. 

Yet even in welcomed slumber, Nero soon finds himself naught but victim to dreams of visions he doesn’t recognize or understand. 

Rage and destruction surround him, suffocating amongst the smoke and brimstone plumes across a distant cityscape. Fires blossom in buildings with stone walls that shatter into thousands of pieces. A sky razed in red without sun in sight, yet a chill covets the fierce wind hails. If not Hell, then this is the closest Nero could imagine to damnation. 

Faceless bodies, not too dissimilar to the ones he saw today, swirl around him like a mass of coagulated flesh. They scream silently, mouths jar begging for help from unknown assailants. Nero moves to help them, but his legs refuse to take hold on the ground. He’s unable to break free from the plums of smoke threatening his breath, sensations of sludge rooting him in place. Reaching out to nothing, he’s helpless to the pure terror enveloping his senses. 

Beyond him, behind him from all sides, a voice calls out to him. 

No, not to him. In fear of him. Hundreds of eyes are fearful, looking down. So Nero looks down with them. 

Then wakes up to the barrel of a gun.

“Now who the _hell_ are you?”


End file.
